Chapter XX: Taken by Surprise

"So it is to be East Bourne, not Brighton," Francesca remarked, entering the drawing-room.

More than a week had passed since Julia's talk with her husband about Hermione—a talk not since renewed. Julia had not ventured to bring up the subject afresh, and Harvey never alluded to it. She was conscious, indeed, of a tendency on his part to avoid têtes-à-tête, and to shirk opportunities for conversation.

Mrs. Trevor's announcement brought startled eyes in her direction, alike from Julia reading in one window, and from Hermione writing letters in another. Mittie, playing with a kitten on the floor, showed interest rather than surprise.

"I should have preferred Brighton, for my part, simply because it is bigger, and I have friends there. Besides, the height of the season will be over in East Bourne, and at Brighton everybody would be coming down from Town. However, I don't much care. Anything for change."

"Are we going to East Bourne, mother? Where is East Bourne?" demanded Mittie's small voice.

"In Sussex, of course, child. Yes, we are going next week."

"Harvey has not told me," Julia observed, in a tone which brought the quick response—

"You needn't be jealous, my dear. He would not have told me if I had not dragged it out of him. I am not sure that he knew it himself half-an-hour ago."

Julia could well believe this.

"He said he was not going to be hauled to Brighton, for he detested the place—a great overgrown imitation of London. And I said I was not going to be hauled to Scotland, to die of ennui on the moors. So we adopted East Bourne between us as a compromise. I believe he was glad at last to consent to any thing to get rid of me. Once away, he'll not be in a hurry to come back. I shouldn't wonder if East Bourne were a stepping-stone to Paris. He is not looking well, and I told him so, and he allowed that he might be the better for a bout of sea air. So we are to write and ask about lodgings—on the Esplanade, of course. I shall be glad enough to be out of this depressing atmosphere. There's certainly something in Westford which affects one's general organisation. My complexion is growing positively yellow, and everybody looks dismal."

"Westford is counted particularly healthy," Hermione said, laying down her pen, and facing the trio.

"Places often gain false characters. It doesn't suit me."

Mrs. Trevor's patronising air of superior information was secretly exasperating to Hermione, just as Hermione's distant dignity annoyed Mrs. Trevor. Generally Hermione held studiously back from aught in the shape of argument, refusing to put herself into Mrs. Trevor's power; and this had gone on so long that she counted her own composure inviolable, and did not fear being upset. But now, for once, she was taken by surprise, shaken out of her usual line of action. The idea of leaving Westford was altogether new to her, and she could not at once resolve how to meet it. To a girl of her age, who had seen so little of the world, the prospect of a change might have come pleasantly, but all the pride of her nature rose up in arms against the manner of the announcement. Why were not her wishes to be consulted as well as Mrs. Trevor's wishes? Was it to be taken for granted that she would calmly acquiesce in whatever was arranged, without a desire or a voice in the matter? She would not condescend to ask what was meant or expected, but resentment flushed her fair cheek, and lent sharpness to the tone of her retort.

"A stranger's opinion can be worth little. Those who have lived in Westford for years know better."

"One may become acclimatised, no doubt," Mrs. Trevor answered carelessly, depositing herself and her draperies in an easy-chair. "But I should be sorry to go through the years of previous misery."

"Is East Bourne healthy, mother?" asked Mittie.

"Splendid air, Mittie. As different from this as can be imagined."

"And will cousin Hermione come with us?"

The opportunity of giving that proud girl a set-down was irresistible. "Of course," Francesca answered decisively. "This house is to be shut up, and left in charge of Milton. We shall all go."

"I beg your pardon. I shall not!"

Julia looked frightened, for the suppressed voice spoke of no ordinary passion. Hermione stood upright, her blue eyes blazing with anger, her face crimson. Not one of the three had seen her thus before.

Mrs. Trevor laughed. "Oh! You will stay with the Fitzalans, I suppose."

"That will be as I choose to decide. Your advice will not be asked."

Mrs. Trevor was not easily disconcerted, and to be conscious of power over Hermione was what she had long desired. She showed no annoyance at the very haughty utterance, but lifted her light eyebrows with a half-droll, half-contemptuous air.

"Really? Well, advice is a cheap commodity. But I don't know what I can have said to rouse so much ire! Do you, Julia?"

"Francesca, do be quiet—don't go on, pray!" implored Julia, in a undertone.

"Not go on with what? My dear, I shall begin to think you are both a little demented. Effect of Westford air, perhaps. I merely made known Harvey's decision. If anybody has a right to be vexed, it is yourself; for not having been told first. As for Hermione and me—why, we merely have to obey orders. If Harvey settles to go to East Bourne, I supposed it to be a matter of course that we should go too."

Hermione was endeavouring in a hasty fashion to put her papers into the writing-case, but her hands shook so violently that the attempt was a failure. She let them drop, and turned again to Francesca, her eyes wide-open and blazing still, while her cheeks, brow, and ears were one uniform burning red. As she stood rigidly erect, a kind of convulsion of passion seemed to pass again and again through the slight figure, and her voice had grown hoarse and rapid. Those who had known Hermione in childhood would have recognised at once a recurrence of the ungovernable childish temper, but such an outbreak had not been seen for years, and her present companions could hardly believe their own eyes, so astonishing was the change in the fair graceful girl they had known thus far. Julia and Mittie stared, aghast, and even Mrs. Trevor felt uncomfortable.

"You know that it is not so!" Hermione said. "You know that you have the settling of everything—not Harvey or Julia. They have the right, but you have not. If they choose to submit to your dictation, they can do so; but I will not. It is unbearable. I am made a mere cipher in the house—treated as nobody—while you—Yes, you may toss your head and look scornful, but it is true, and you know it! your one wish is to trample on me—to make me feel myself a dependent! And you shall not succeed. If I had my rights, things would be very different; and you know that too. I will not be managed by you as if I were a mere child. Say what you will, I do not care. I will not go to East Bourne."

"If you please, ma'am—" implored Slade at the door, in great distress. He had spoken three times, vainly seeking to win the attention of the listeners to this unexpected tirade. There were other listeners also. Behind Slade, in the open doorway, full spectators of the scene, stood Mr. Fitzalan and Harry together—Mr. Fitzalan wearing a look of most sorrowful gravity, while Harry was actually white to the lips. "This— Hermione!!" seemed written on every line of his face. Slade was almost as crimson as Hermione herself, with his grief and shame for her.

"If you please, ma'am—"

"Oh, it is Mr. Fitzalan!" Julia murmured, with a nervous start, and she stood up to receive her guests.

Hermione looked at no one. Even then a dim consciousness of how her words must have sounded to others did exist; but passion had too complete a mastery to allow of any resumption of her usual manner. Without a word to her friends she rushed rather than walked from the room.

But for Mrs. Trevor's presence, it may be doubted whether anybody would have spoken during the first two minutes. Hands were shaken and seats were found, an oppression of embarrassment overpowering them all. Julia had a scared look, Mr. Fitzalan was lost in thought, and Harry seemed to be dazed. Mrs. Trevor threw herself into the breach, rallying first, and bent upon smoothing things down. It would not do to ignore what the Fitzalans had overheard. Her aim should be to soften the impression made.

"You have come at rather an unfortunate moment," she said pleasantly to Mr. Fitzalan. "Hermione is not often so excited—indeed, I may say that I have never seen her so before. It is quite a new experience," and Francesca sighed. "We were discussing plans, and some little remark of mine gave her pain, I am afraid. She is rather too sensitive, poor girl—natural, no doubt! Her position is a trying one, of course, do what one will to lighten it; and she has seen very little of life, so she is disposed to magnify small troubles."

Mr. Fitzalan bent his head in answer. He showed himself in no hurry to offer an opinion.

"My brother-in-law has just decided on a move to East Bourne for a few weeks, and the idea is unpleasant to Hermione. I do, not know why, for East Bourne is a particularly charming place. No doubt the change will do her good, if she can make up her mind to it."

Julia broke in at this point, colouring distressfully. "I am not sure whether my husband is at home just now, if you wish to see him—but perhaps—"

"No; we met him on our way here. Harry is leaving to-morrow, and we came for a good-bye word with Hermione."

"Yes. So very unfortunate," Mrs. Trevor observed blandly. "But perhaps she will come down presently. A girlish tiff of this sort doesn't usually last long. Hermione is a charming girl, but singularly young for her years."

"I don't think we can wait," Harry said gruffly. "Marjory is expecting us—" and he looked at his father.

"Hermione must come to the Rectory instead," Mr. Fitzalan observed, though privately he felt sure that Hermione would not come until after his son's departure. He called Mittie to his side, and talked about the kitten, with his arm round the child; but even Mittie seemed bewildered, not able to respond as usual; and after paying as short a call as possible, the two gentlemen took their leave.

Francesca threw herself back, with a singular expression, as the door closed behind them.

"Well, I don't envy that girl's sensations. To make such a complete exposé of herself! The saintliness is for once at fault!"

Mittie stood near, gazing with eyes full of wonder. "What was cousin Hermione so dreadfully angry about?"

"Nothing on earth, but because she can't have the management of everything in her own hands. Cousin Hermione is a spoilt child, and that's the beginning and end of the matter. More shame to those who spoilt her!" added Mrs. Trevor, with a virtuous air peculiar to those who are condemning in another their own faults.

"My Marjory says cousin Hermione is so truly good. And old Sutton calls her an angel."

Mrs. Trevor's laugh had a sound of contempt. "It's an uncommonly angelic temper. I doubt if your Marjory's brother will be of her opinion after to-day. He didn't appear to be delighted."

"Francesca, there's no need to talk so to the child," Julia said, in a pained voice. "Things are bad enough already. Why must you make them worse? If I were in Hermione's place, I should be miserable."

Francesca sauntered out of the room, humming a tone to herself, and Mittie remarked in childish imitation, "I should think cousin Hermione must be miserable."